“I shall go to the king,” suggested Mountjoy, “and ask for further details, delicately explaining the affrontery it will cause among the guests. It must be misguided, surely, or the result of bad advice.”
“Here, see for yourself!” Catherine flung the letter to him, so that he was obliged to grapple in the air before catching it. Regaining his dignity, the queen’s chamberlain began to read the king’s own words.
Catherine drew breath and began again, casting her gaze about the room. “Where is my daughter?”
“She is still dressing, my lady,” replied Thomasin. “Lady Salisbury is with her.”
The queen nodded in gratitude. “This is only for your trusted ears. I will tell you more. In this letter, the king gives me instructions regarding the entertainments of the season over the coming twelve nights. He writes that the palace will be crowdedand that there may be moments when I find myself overtired, and may wish to withdraw with the princess. But I need not be concerned, as in those circumstances, he will invite his sister and other leading ladies to act as hostess in my place.”
No one dared speak.
“He phrases it as a concern for my health,” she continued, “but he is pushing me aside to allow that woman to preside. Other leading ladies, he says. I do not doubt to whom he refers! Am I to be juggled out of the way, sidelined so that whore can preside over my court? My sister Suffolk will not have been party to this. At Christmas time?”
Thomasin thought of the difficulties of the entire court being together under one roof, of the moments of awkwardness when Catherine and Anne would come face to face, both wanting to sit beside Henry. No doubt Henry had also had the same fears about the presence of his wife and mistress in close quarters, both wishing to take precedence. Until now, the situation had been painful, but not troublesome, because the correct procedure had always been followed according to status. Each knew their place, and Anne had not snubbed the queen in public, nor tried to replace her at table or in the order of things. Catherine always sat on the dais, in the queen’s stand, or had the leading position: was Henry really trying to push Anne towards a queen-like role?
“It is true,” said Mountjoy, looking up from the page, his voice low and troubled. “There can be no doubt, no mistake: this is the king’s true intention.”
“No, this is her doing,” said Maria, “Anne herself. That woman is growing over-confident, seeking to walk in your shoes, my lady.”
“Yes,” agreed Lady Essex, “I do not think this has come from the king’s mind. Whatever his questions, he would never seek to diminish your public position. It is the interference of thatwoman and her family. I would not be surprised if it came from Boleyn himself, or Norfolk, or his scheming wife. They have been emboldened by the arrival of the papal legate, and the court he intends to hold.”
“Which they cannot win,” Catherine stated defiantly. “They reach too close to the sun. There is only room for one pair of feet in my shoes, one queen at this court!”
“One queen only,” echoed Mountjoy. “No matter what the king says, the Boleyn woman lacks the breeding, the position and the experience, even if there were no existing queen!”
“What shall you do, my lady?” asked Maria.
“Why, attend every occasion in my finery, laden with gold and jewels, as my husband’s gracious hostess for this joyous season, as I have done every year and will continue to do. And this message,” she added, taking the piece of paper that Maria was still holding and casting it into the fire, “this message is fit only to burn.”
There was a small ripple of applause through the chamber, which seemed to lift Catherine’s spirits.
“Now,” she continued, “we will break our fast, then later, we will proceed to the welcome banquet, where all the guests will be assembled, waiting to be greeted by their queen!”
The wine was warm and spiced, and the pears soft to the core and saturated with honey.
Thomasin ate and drank with satisfaction, but there was a note of unease in her belly. The king’s letter had dramatically altered the mood, and they all knew awkward moments lay ahead. She could imagine the scene where the queen asserted her position and forced Anne to acknowledge her precedence. Anne would not like it, convinced of her own destiny, but surely the Boleyns would not be so foolish as to directly challenge Catherine? Eventhey would be forced to step aside for an anointed queen, at least before the ruling of the Legatine court.
Only after that initial battle had been won, would Thomasin allow herself to feel excited about the coming days. The festivities planned were like no other: she had heard rumours of feasts and banquets, masques and tournaments, but there was a special atmosphere in the air, a mounting excitement she had not felt since she was a child. In the chambers and courts downstairs, the guests were assembling, and among them her own parents, come from Suffolk and her good friends, the Mores and Dudleys. Surely Thomasin had everything to look forward to.
She leaned forwards and took a pinch of spices from a gold dish.
Of course, Rafe would be here too, she realised. Yet she did not know how his presence made her feel, such were her mixed emotions. Had he not been there, she would have felt disappointment, but after their recent kiss, things had shifted between them again. And his words — there was a different note to his words. Was it pragmatism, experience or cynicism? He seemed older, wiser. Thomasin did not know yet which direction she wanted their relationship to take, but there was no rush to decide.
And Nico was gone, now, leaving a vacancy. Thomasin was very conscious of his absence, even if she had seen little of him in the days leading up to his departure. Now he was not there, and she would not see him across the courtyard or dining in the hall, he had somehow entered her imagination instead. She pictured him on a boat in the Channel, standing with his face to the wind, or riding a horse through lush green valleys alongside vineyards, speeding through France to the border. She imagined the scene as he hurried home to his family, into the arms of loved ones: his mother, sisters, nephews and nieces, and some beautiful,dark-eyed woman appearing to kiss him. Had he forgotten her already?
Thomasin shook her head, trying to dislodge the ridiculous idea. What would her good friend Thomas More advise her? Use good, balanced, sensible thinking and remember his good qualities, rather than fearing the worst. Keep busy, More would say. She should turn her mind back to her duty, to the service of the queen and the days that lay ahead.
“Now, let us prepare for the welcome banquet,” declared Catherine. “I will wear the sea-green dress, with the embroidered H and K on the bodice!”
Thomasin smiled as she fetched the dress. The initials of husband and wife were entwined in gold. It was a subtle but bold reaffirmation of the queen’s position, just Catherine’s style.
FIFTEEN
Greenwich’s great hall had been completely transformed. Thomasin paused to catch her breath as she stepped through the doorway. The space shone with the trappings of the season: golden hangings rippled from ceiling to floor, like great waves of fire, catching the light of the torches and blazing hearth. Strewn all around, between lintels and corbels, were great branches of evergreen, collected from the park, their sharp, clean scent rising above the tang of the smoke. Holly bushes and ivy garlands hung from the rafters, mixed with the little white berries of mistletoe.
In the gallery, the musicians with their scarlet and black livery were playing on the recorders and fiddles, drums and shawms. Their tunes were punctuated by the stirring calls of the trumpets, making the crowd turn to the great door to see who was entering.
All voices came to a halt as Catherine and her ladies paraded inside, to a blast of fanfare. On both sides, courtiers and guests in their finest clothes bowed and curtseyed low, making a sea of jewelled caps and headdresses through which the queen would glide.
